


Liz's DMV Deduction

by NamelesslyNightlock



Series: The DMV's FBI (and Sometimes Criminal) Encounters [5]
Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: (and Glen really should clean up his eating space), Gen, Liz does not have great kid skills, Murder Mystery, Ressler makes a special guest appearance, and makes a fool of himself, but she should get points for trying, dmv adventures, less than canon typical descriptions of violence, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-03 18:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6621712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelesslyNightlock/pseuds/NamelesslyNightlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s been a murder most foul… and it’s up to Liz to catch the killer. But with hardly any evidence, a missing murder weapon and no security footage, all she has to rely on are witness statements, and people never act their best when a mystery is afoot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Liz's DMV Deduction

**Author's Note:**

> [whimsicalwombat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalwombat/profile), apologies for any negative connotations I place upon your house in this story, but thanks for whatever accidental ideas you may have given me.
> 
> And as a disclaimer for this story I still uphold the belief that waiting rooms turn people mad.

Liz didn’t notice the body at first. This isn’t really much of a surprise; the victim was only little, and the body was surrounded by a huddle of shocked and horrified people. The room was fairly loud - those around the body were either crying in harsh, choking sobs, or muttering words of comfort. The nature of the suffering was, even at a glance, quite obvious, and it was this that had Liz moving towards the group, tentatively hoping to discover what was wrong.

She didn’t see the body until she was only a couple of feet away. The broken, battered corpse was lying on the ground, almost looking like someone had torn it to shreds. Parts of its insides were spilling onto the dirty linoleum floor, and Liz forced herself to look away. She had seen such horrors before of course; it was practically in her job description. But there were children here, and Liz’s attention needed to be elsewhere.

It was the children that made up her mind. She’d never had the way with kids that Tom had seemed to manage without trying, back when he was a teacher (and didn’t that just hurt?), but that didn’t mean that Liz was totally clueless. And in the context of the bleary DMV waiting room that might as well be it’s own little universe separate from the rest of the world she knew exactly the best way to proceed.

“Excuse me,” she called out, totally ignoring any form of waiting room decorum. No one was paying any attention to her though - their eyes were all on either the broken body sprawled across the floor or on the people huddled around it. Liz knew she was going to have to choose her next words carefully. “I’m with the FBI,” she said, moving towards the group. “I can help.”

One of the crying people huddled in the group looked up. “No you aren’t,” she said. “We didn’t call the police yet.”

“I was here already,” Liz replied. She didn’t have a badge on her - couldn’t since she wasn’t technically an agent any more. But she did have the ID that let her in as a consultant, and that had FBI written all over it. It should be enough to convince those in the crowd. So Liz reached into her pocket and pulled out the card, flashing it around so the large blue letters were visible, but the part clearly stating she was a consultant was covered with a thumb.

Eyes that passed over the card went wide. One stressed looking woman gave Liz the most relieved look she had ever received, and the majority of the group surrounding the victim stared at her in grim hope.

“You’re going to find out who did this,” one of them said firmly. “You have to.”

“I will,” Liz replied, nodding once in reassurance.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Acting just as her training would dictate (well, as best she could under the circumstances) Liz cleared the crime scene. She didn’t have any tape but a helpful old lady watching the proceedings with concern offered her some canary yellow yarn from a bag by her feet.

“I’m using it to knit my grandson a Huffle-hog scarf,” she told Liz, frowning in confusion at her own words for a moment before shaking the thought from her head and patting Liz on the arm. “But you take it dear, I can see what’s happening. Their need is greater than mine at the moment, and I’ve plenty more at home. You take it and you do some good.”

The yarn, when folded over itself several times and tied to a few chairs in a crude oblong shape, made a half decent police line, delegating the space inside as a clear crime scene.

Next, Liz turned to face the room. “Now, it’s proper procedure to keep all witnesses and suspects separate,” she said. “If everyone can return to their chairs, it will be a great help to my investigation.”

Grudgingly, they all did as she said, though one turned to her as he sat and asked; “Aren’t you going to call for backup?”

“Backup?” asked Liz. “Why, are any of you going to hurt me?” Many of them in earshot shook their heads. “Good. You do raise a good point though. Perhaps I should call one of my colleagues.”

“FBI incompetence,” came the response. He shook his head as if in disbelief, and Liz couldn’t help but wonder if he was quoting or perhaps copying someone.

Still standing beside the crime scene, Liz considered her options. She didn’t actually _need_ back up - she could sort this out, at least for now. But if someone asked, it would be good to have the call logged, lest she get called out on it. So, decision made, Liz pulled out her phone and tapped on the speed dial.

“Agent Ressler.”

“Oh Agent Ressler, thank goodness I’ve gotten through.” She cast a few furtive glances about and covered her mouth with her hand, but she still made sure to speak clearly. “Look, I have a bit of a situation here.”

“I really don’t need to hear about your DMV situation, Keen,” Ressler replied haughtily. “You got my advice earlier - sit down, wear earplugs, ignore everything around you. If you didn’t listen it’s hardly anything to do with me.”

“Look, there’s been a murder,” said Liz, lowering her voice slightly. “A murder _most_ foul. Do you think you can send me someone?”

“Murder?” Ressler yelped. Liz wished she’d been recording the conversation for later. “What do you mean?”

“The victim’s body has been severely mutilated, but I believe I will be able to get an ID from a witness. However, I have no way of checking for an accurate time of death. Do you think you’ll be able to get an ME down here for me?”

“Keen, what on earth-“

“Oh of course,” Liz exclaimed, grinning as brightly as the figurative light bulb flashing above her head. “Security cameras! Why didn’t I think of that? Excellent, thank you, Agent Ressler!” Ignoring her ex-partner’s confused spluttering, Liz hung up the phone, silenced it and put it in her pocket before turning to the room as a whole. “Well,” she said loudly. “Seems like this will be an open and shut case.”

Several faces in the room paled, and Liz had to fight a smile. It wasn’t funny, what had happened. Not at all. But these suspects were much too easy.

She moved with purpose towards the nondescript door in the side of the room. It was marked with ‘ _Staff Only: Do Not Enter_ ,’ so Liz figured that even if it wasn’t what she wanted it would still do the job.

Sure enough, as she peeked in through the door it was clear that the room was a janitor’s closet. A dusty, grimy, clearly-hadn’t-been-used-in-a-long-time janitor’s closet, but Liz squeezed herself in all the same.

It probably hadn’t been a good idea to leave all of the suspects and witnesses in the room with the body.

Ah well.

Liz stood in the room for a few more moments before heading back out, making sure none of the nosey eyes could get a glimpse inside.

“I’m afraid there aren’t any security tapes available in there,” Liz said, making sure she didn’t lie but simultaneously keeping the fear factor in place. But before she could say more, another voice spoke up.

“You’d probably need a warrant.”

“Probably,” she agreed, nodding to the speaker. “So, I suppose we’ll have to do this the old fashioned way. Could everyone who saw the incident form an orderly line please, those who were closest to the victim first. Thank you.”

There was some pushing and jostling as it seemed that almost everyone had seen what had happened and wanted to go first, but a semblance of order was soon reached. A college student who had thought he might be able to study while waiting for his number offered up a notepad and a pen for Liz to use, and soon she was settled in a chair next to the vending machines with her first witness/suspect in front of her.

It was the same person who had made Liz promise to find the killer - a good place to start by all accounts.

“For the record, what is your name?” Liz asked.

“I’m Emma Johnson,” came the reply. Her voice was soft and nervous, and a little gravelly due to the crying. Her eyes were red and puffy and she wiped at them harshly with her sleeve. Despite this, her gaze was strong as she stared at Liz. She was determined to see this through.

“And your relation to the victim?” Liz asked.

“He was my best friend,” Emma said steadily.

“Can you describe what you saw?”

“Well, we weren’t doing anything, we were just sitting on the chairs.” Emma furrowed her brow as she thought. “Then that guy over there– he walked up to us and started to tease Charlie. He didn’t do anything to– to provoke him. He just walked up and started insulting us.”

“And how did Charlie respond?” asked Liz, jotting down the information in the notepad.

“He just ignored it.”

“So he didn’t respond at all?”

“No. We stayed quiet, both of us.”

“And what happened then?”

“Well. That– that _monster_ grabbed Charlie’s arm and yanked him up from the chair. I told him to stop, I did, but he didn’t listen to me. Then another person came over, his friend I guess, and he grabbed Charlie too. And I tried to stop them but…"

“But?”

“ _They tore him to shreds!_ ” Emma wailed, her composure finally breaking. “They killed Charlie! They killed him! He was my best friend, my very best friend, and they killed him!”

“Hey, listen,” said Liz, placing a hand on top of Emma’s tightly clenched fist. “Charlie wouldn’t have wanted you to act like this. We’re going to find his killer, okay? I promise. Now, do you think you can tell me a little more?”

Emma nodded.

“Okay then. About when did this happen?”

“Just before you came in,” Emma sniffled. “It had only just happened, then. He’d only just…”

“I see,” said Liz, nodding. “So about…. 11:15?”

Emma shrugged, so Liz moved on.

“Okay then. One more thing; these two people you mentioned, can you point them out?” When Emma looked at Liz fearfully, she did her best to reassure her. “Think about Charlie, okay? I wont let them hurt you.”

Emma gestured to two figures standing in the line, around the middle. “Those two.” She flinched at the glare they shot her.

Liz reassured her again before sending her off. Coming to a rather unorthodox decision, Liz gestured for both of the people Emma had pointed at to come to her together.

“State your names for the record,” she said.

“James Grady,” said the younger one. Looking closely, Liz could see him trembling. Nodding, she turned to the other.

“I want a lawyer,” he said.

Liz raised an eyebrow. “You want a lawyer?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes.” He nodded firmly. “Don’t say anything else, James.”

James nodded in agreement, though he looked a little confused.

Sighing in annoyance, Liz decided to play along. “Alright,” she said. “Which lawyer do you want?”

He pointed. “Her.”

The woman, upon seeing that she was being pointed at, walked over. Despite her casual clothing and the way her light blonde hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, there was something about the way she held herself that had Liz quickly identifying her as a proper attorney. She glanced at James and the as of yet unnamed witness before considering Liz curiously, a stark intelligence in her eyes that spoke of a dangerous mind.

“He wants you as his lawyer,” Liz explained.

The woman sighed in a manner not unlike Liz had only minutes before, but she sat down with the two. “Don’t say anything, William,” she instructed, just as Liz had heard many lawyers say the words before. She wondered if there was a special class on speaking that phrase in law school, or if possession of that skill was a perquisite for the course.

“I _haven’t_ said anything,” William huffed.

“Good.” The woman turned to Liz. “My name is Rachel Price. I will be their attorney.”

“We didn’t say anything,” James assured her, echoing William.

Rachel rolled her eyes, and gestured to Liz. “Continue.”

“Names?”

“James and William Grady,” said Rachel.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

To Liz’s surprise, the woman merely gestured for the two brothers to continue.

“We were just having some fun,” William started, shooting his brother an inscrutable look. “It’s boring, waiting in here for those numbers to change. And when we saw that absolutely disgusting-“

“May the record show that William is here referring to the victim?” Rachel cut in.

Liz nodded. “The victim’s name is Charlie.”

“Charlie, then,” William said, rolling his eyes. “We saw Charlie just sitting there, and thought he’d be fun to mess with.”

“So we grabbed him,” James interjected. William kicked him in the shin, and Rachel pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

“So we _took him gently by the arm_ ,” William amended, “Before we decided he might want to hang out with us rather than the girl with him.”

“You mean Emma Johnston?”

“Yeah, whatever her name was. But she got mad, and then she grabbed hold of the- of Charlie as well, and someone had a pair of scissors, I don’t know, and then suddenly-“

“Stop,” said Liz, holding up a hand. “You said someone had some scissors?”

“Yeah, or something,” William agreed. James nodded his head rapidly beside him.

“Who?” asked Liz. It made sense - there was no way that a body could be so torn in _quite that way_ in the sort of tussle that Emma had described, and the amount of, of _insides_ all over the linoleum, stretching out across several square feet - not to mention the damage to his _face_ \- could only have resulted if a sharp instrument were involved.

James and William spoke together for once, pointing in unison to the same person. “Her.”

\--o--

“Name?”

“Jemima, Agent. But everyone calls me Jem.”

“There is no need to call me Agent, Jem. Just Liz is fine.”

“Alright.”

“Okay. Can you tell me what happened? You have been accused of holding a pair of scissors. Do you know where they went?”

“No. Is that all?”

“So you were holding the scissors, you just don’t know where they went?”

“No.”

“No what?”

“No nothing. I’m not lying, I promise. Can I go now?”

“Where did the scissors come from?”

“Oh, the old lady knitting over— wait. You can’t do that!”

“Thank you, Jem.”

\--o--

“Name?”

“Charlotte Graeae.”

“And how is the scarf going?”

“Good, good,” the old lady nodded with a smile. “It’s almost long enough, it just needs a few more stripes. And I’ve almost finished the badger on the end; I just need to sew the eyes in. I know scarves don’t normally have such adornments but I think it would add a nice touch, don’t you?”

Liz nodded distractedly before moving on. “Do you have a pair of scissors in your knitting bag, Mrs Graeae?”

“Why yes, just a moment and I’ll show you. They must be here…somewhere…”

Liz waited patiently as the old lady rummaged about in her bag. And rummaged. And rummaged.

“Having trouble, Mrs Graeae?” asked Liz.

“They aren’t here!” the lady exclaimed. She rummaged for little while longer before putting her bag to the side, shaking her head. “I swear they were there earlier,” she muttered.

Liz froze. “Are you telling me that there were scissors in there, and now they’re gone?”

“Quite sharp ones, too,” Mrs Graeae nodded solemnly. “Just had them sharpened, actually. Couldn’t cut cleanly through the fabric before.” She glanced quickly at the horrific crime scene before turning back to Liz, looking a little green. “I guess they can now.”

“So now we have a dangerous, sharp object thrown into the mix,” Liz groaned, throwing back her head. “Do you remember the last time you saw them?”

“Well it was certainly before 10:51,” Mrs Graeae said confidently. “I know because that lovely young girl asked me the time. I had used them not long before that, but not since.”

“Alright,” Liz sighed. “Is there anything else you can help me with?”

“Well.” Mrs Graeae glanced about before leaning in close, speaking in a low tone. “I can’t help but notice that man over there… you see, he moved during the commotion.”

“Moved?”

“Oh yes.” Mrs Graeae nodded conspiratorially. “He was sitting several rows back earlier, I saw him. Now he’s moved forward.”

“Thanks for your cooperation, Mrs Graeae.”

“Glad I could help.”

“Please send the next one over.”

\--o--

 “And what did you see?” Liz asked, starting to feel tired even though only just over half of the witnesses had spoken to her.

“Not much,” the woman admitted, “But it was those young lads, I know it.”

“Which young lads?”

The woman gave her a hard look. “You know the ones. Came over and looked at my sudoku books, kept asking questions about it. Now, I’m all for learning new things, but this place is bad enough without being bothered. I just want some piece and quiet.” Suddenly the woman’s glare turned icy cold and piercing. “To be honest,” she said harshly, “I think this entire farce is a waste of time. I’d rather just be working on my puzzle book. Who are you to come in here and demand that people who had nothing to do with—“

Her speech was interrupted by a high-pitched screech. “ _Waste of time???_ ” Emma, who had clearly been listening in on the conversation, jumped in front of the woman and pointed a finger in her face. “ _Listen here you little—_ “

“Emma!” A brunette woman in her early twenties ran up and grabbed Emma’s shoulder. She was the same woman who had looked at Liz in relief before - relief that seemed to have disappeared. “You need to calm down, let the Agent do her job. This wouldn’t be what Charlie wanted.”

Emma still looked angry, but she nodded and allowed the other woman to lead her away.

With a sigh, Liz prepared herself for the next interrogation.

\--o--

“I saw the blonde holding some scissors,” said the teenager, speaking as soon as he had sat down. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“Name.”

“Josh. That’s all—“

“What blonde?”

“You know…”

“Can you point them out to me?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, dude, just some blonde.”

“Male or female?”

The teenager shrugged again, before standing.

Liz watched irritably as he walked off. “…Thanks.”

\--o--

Liz couldn’t help but rub her hands over her eyes in annoyance.

“So you waited in line and came up here to tell me that you didn’t see anything at all?”

“Yes.”

“And that you were in the bathroom the entire time?”

“Exactly.”

“Sorry if I appear rude, Carla, but, _why?”_

“Well, it’s a good alibi, isn’t it?”

“Well,” Liz groaned, “Not unless there was someone in there with you.”

The dark haired girl paled.

\--o--

The very last witness was not exactly a witness in the strictest sense. He hadn’t joined the line to speak, and he had merely sat through the proceedings reading his book. But Mrs Graeae had named the man a suspect, and it would be improper procedure (and honestly just a little bit rude) if Liz ignored the accusation.

But he didn’t seem too keen on speaking now, either. To be honest, he only seemed interested in a highly charged battle of strength and endurance.

The old man stared.

Liz stared back.

He narrowed his eyes.

Liz raised an eyebrow.

He bared his teeth.

Liz stuck out her tongue.

He burst out laughing. “Okay, okay,” he said, holding up his hands, still chuckling. “I watch NCIS, I wanted to try out some interrogation techniques.”

“I’m the one doing the interrogation,” Liz clarified, “Though with such credentials as yours I should probably watch out.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “One who has such experience with interrogation could probably crack all the best FBI techniques.”

“Touché,” he grinned toothily. “What is it you want to know?”

“Well, your name for starters.”

“Gary Harding.”

Liz leaned forward slightly. “And what did you see, Gary?”

“I don’t really know to be honest,” the old man replied, sounding rather apologetic. “I was reading my book, waiting for my number to come up when I heard some shouting. By the time I looked up, the shouting had stopped and the poor… victim was spread out across the floor.” He paused. “I am sorry I can’t tell you more, but I honestly didn’t see who did it.”

“Did you see any kind of murder weapon?” Liz asked. “One of the others told me you were sitting over there—“ She gestured. “—Is that correct?”

“No,” said Gary, frowning. He pointed to a chair several rows closer to the crime scene than where Liz had. Clearly, Mrs Graeae had been telling the truth. Since she’d spoken to the old lady, Liz had talked to several witnesses who placed Gary in the back of the room, not the forward chairs that he claimed to have sat in. If he was sitting closer… well, that could mean a lot of things, couldn’t it?

Noting it down in her notepad, Liz shook the thought away for now and moved on. “So you would have had a different vantage point than the other witnesses I have talked to.”

“I suppose so.”

“Do you think you perhaps saw something they didn’t?”

He must have known what she was getting at.

“I didn’t see a weapon,” Gary said slowly, frowning. “But I did see a young girl shove something behind a chair over there.”

“Show me which chair. Now.”

\--o--

When Liz held up the hand clasping the pair of sharp scissors she had retrieved from between one of the plastic chairs and a wall, the entire waiting room seemed to freeze.

“The murder weapon,” Josh - the unhelpful teenager - gasped, his eyes wide. “There’ll be finger prints on that, for sure.”

“No doubt,” Liz agreed. “However, I don’t have the forensic equipment here, so until I can get these to a lab, witness testimony will have to do.” She grinned wickedly as several people shrunk into their chairs. “And I know just who to talk to next."

A sudden move had Liz focusing her eyes to where Rachel-Price-the-Lawyer had suddenly stood from her chair.

Josh gasped once more and pointed a finger at the _blonde_ woman. “It was her!” he exclaimed, almost rising from his chair himself. “She was the one!”

Well, Liz thought, she hadn’t actually spoken to the lawyer as a witness - only as the attorney to a couple of witnesses. She hadn’t actually interrogated the woman herself.

Muttering had erupted from amongst the chairs at Josh’s proclamation, and Liz tried her best to regain attention. “Quiet please!” she called. No one listened. “Quiet - look, please can you- QUIET!”

A shrill, high-pitched whistle rang through the room, and everyone fell silent immediately and turned to stare at Mrs Graeae, who was grinning as she pulled her fingers from her mouth.

“Agent Liz here is trying to speak,” she called out.

“Thank you Mrs Graeae,” Liz said, before turning to the room. “Okay. I think I have - I need to speak quickly to Rachel Price before we move on, but while I do that can you all please come together? I need to speak to you as a group.”

As Liz walked to a corner of the room with the lawyer, the remaining people exchanged uneasy glances. If she wanted to speak to all of them, it probably mean that she had either found the killer or believed she had come close.

While Emma Johnston rubbed her hands together in anticipation, the rest of the room nervously awaited for what was to come.

\--o--

Standing before the sea of plastic chairs and expectant faces, Liz couldn’t help but wonder if she was doing the right thing. Perhaps she should have left it all alone; perhaps she should have just allowed the people involved to deal with the situation themselves. But she couldn’t back out of it now, and she steeled herself before starting to speak.

“Alright. I’ve looked at all the evidence, and I’ve heard what… most of you have to say. Now, I believe I have a pretty good idea of who is responsible—“ a visible shudder ran through the room, “But I’d like to walk you through the evidence so you understand how I know this person is guilty, if you are willing to listen.”

“Do it,” Rachel-Price-the-lawyer said, nodding firmly. “It’ll be good to learn the truth.”

A number of faces paled, but the majority were looking up at her, waiting to hear what she had to say. And so, opening her notepad, Liz began with her case.

“Let’s get right into it then. The first accusation is against William and James Grady,” Liz started. “They were witnessed pulling at Charlie and throwing him to the ground, this is true. But he would have survived the injuries inflicted by the Grady brothers - a few stitches, perhaps - and he would have been fine. But the lacerations inflicted with the scissors were what caused the most damage. Those to the body to disguise those to the face, and those to the face which reveal the true reason for the murder. The Grady brothers may have committed grievous bodily harm, but they did not murder Charlie.”

A few voices asked: “Then who did?”

“William and James were never in possession of the scissors,” Liz continued. “But someone else was. Which brings us to you… Mrs Graeae.”

“Well, I never!” the old lady started to rapidly pack her knitting away into the bag. “If I’m going to be treated like this—“

“No need to fret about that,” Liz said. “The murder weapon belongs to you, but you claimed that was stolen and there are several witnesses who claim to have seen someone else with it - a person they all to some extent agree upon. Which could mean the killer was you… Jem.”

“Alright, alright,” said the sixteen year old, jumping up from her seat in distress, blonde hair swinging about her face. “It was stupid, okay? I shouldn’t have done it, but-“

“ _You_ killed him?” gasped Emma, standing from her seat. “But I thought-“

“Of course I didn’t kill him!” Jem exclaimed. “I would never do something like that! I only needed the scissors to open the packet of candy I got from the vending machine,” she explained tearfully. “I didn’t want to ask for help in case my mom saw, because she doesn’t like us eating that stuff. But I was bored and hungry, and Carla had gone to the bathroom, and I knew the old lady would have some scissors, so I went and asked her the time and as soon as she was distracted, squinting at her watch, I took them. And then I was too embarrassed to admit it to take them back, so I just hid them.”

Liz quickly spoke over Mrs Graeae’s angered yell. “And you didn’t touch them again after that?”

“No.”

“Quite right,” Liz agreed. “Because we know that was just after 10:51, thanks to your asking Mrs Graeae the time, and we know Charlie died over twenty minutes later. It does not take twenty minutes to open a packet of candy and stow some scissors.” Liz paused. “Jem is innocent.”

Jem let out a sigh of relief, and Rachel spoke up. “I didn’t know you opposed the diet so much.” She frowned. “You could have said—“

“I didn’t want to insult you, Mom,” Jem replied, speaking just as soft. “I know how important the paleo is to you, but sometimes I just crave some sugar, you know? I’m a teenager.”

“Well, I suppose I can allow you a treat now and then…” Rachel smiled.

“It’s nice to see a parent softening up sometimes,” a young man muttered to someone by him.

Sensing the perfect opening, Liz spoke again. “But perhaps she’s too soft?” she wondered aloud. “For with Jem exonerated, the next person to consider would be… you, Rachel.”

Rachel looked up in shock. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You saw Jem hide the scissors, didn’t you?”

“I—“

“And not knowing why she had them or where they had come from, you thought it best to hide them again yourself.”

“Well—“

“So you took the scissors from Jem’s hiding place—“

“Now hang on—“

“And then you placed them– oh, in your handbag?”

Rachel’s eyes widened. “How did you know that?”

“What did you think when you saw me pull the scissors from that chair, I wonder? Did you check your bag?”

Rachel nodded.

“And?”

“Gone.”

“Yes, I thought so.”

“I didn’t do it,” Rachel said suddenly. “I know that won’t hold up, but—“

“But nothing,” Liz interjected. “You _didn’t_ do it. Multiple witnesses place you at your seat at the time of the incident, and honestly, what reason would you have for replacing the scissors after you moved them to protect your daughter?”

Rachel slumped in her chair before Liz had even finished.

“Rachel Price is innocent. Which next brings us to you… Josh.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” Liz wanted to add something that probably wouldn’t help the situation, but managed to hold her tongue. “You sent me chasing after the wrong person - perhaps you were trying to mislead me?”

“No, I-“

“But honestly you have no reason and no real means to have done this. You’re innocent. Which brings me to you… Gary.”

The old man jumped. “I helped you find the murder weapon!”

“Well exactly,” Liz smirked. “You knew its precise location, and were quick to name Jem as the one who hid it. Furthermore, you moved seats, and closer to the crime scene. You could have stolen the scissors, killed Charlie and then with no time to get all the way back to your original seat without notice you sat quickly and hoped you would just be passed over.”

“I had to stretch my legs!” Gary exclaimed. “Honestly - I’m an old man, and I can’t sit still for such a long time. So I got up to stretch my legs, and since looking at the red shining numbers for such a long time was hurting my eyes I sat back down closer to them, that’s all!”

“I don’t believe him,” muttered Carla.

“Well I do,” Liz said with a grin, “Mainly because he’s right about the old bones - sorry, Gary, but it took you five minutes to get from your chair to speak to me. You couldn’t have moved fast enough, and I honestly don’t think you’re faking to that extent. So, with Gary innocent, you’re next in line, Carla.”

“I was in the bathroom the _whole_ time,” she said quickly, raising her hands.

"How long do you even need in the bathroom?” James hissed at his older sister. He gained a good thump on the arm in response.

“Yes, and it is funny how you keep saying that,” Liz said over Rachel's attempts to break up two of her charges, frowning slightly. “You said it was an alibi - can anyone corroborate that?”

Carla flamed bright red, and Liz thought it probably best not to ask.

“Whether or not you were in the bathroom is irrelevant,” Liz said quickly, “Because you went out of the door and did not come back for quite some time. Many witnesses have corroborated this.”

“And she had better have been in the bathroom, because leaving while you are supposed to be waiting for your number is prohibited and morally wrong,” Sudoku lady growled under her breath. Liz was surprised she was listening, to be honest.

But instead of commenting, she nodded. “Carla is innocent. Which brings us back to the beginning.”

“Are you saying you don’t know who did it?” Emma asked, disappointed.

“No,” said Liz, shaking her head. “But I do need to consider the possibility that it was you, Miss Johnston.”

“Me?” Emma puffed up in fury. “I couldn’t— I wouldn’t— Charlie was my best friend—“

“Exactly,” said Liz, “Most murders are committed by people who the victim knows. But in this case, you were there fighting William and James, who, as we have already discussed, did not kill Charlie. You’re innocent.”

Emma relaxed in relief despite the fact that her furious expression did not change.

“It may seem like we have now exhausted all the suspects,” Liz continued, “But there was someone with the knowledge to steal the scissors, and the means to replace them - perhaps not back where they took them from, but to somewhere they knew the scissors would be found, where the blame would not fall on themselves. There was someone else who had motive - someone who gained from Charlie’s death.”

“But how could anyone gain from it?” Emma asked angrily.

“There is always something to gain for someone from anything,” Liz said, trying to be wise but quickly realising it wasn’t the best thing to say to someone who’s friend had just been brutally murdered. But despite the tears Emma remained strong, and Liz continued. “This person knew Jem had stolen the scissors, and watched where she hid them. This person then watched as Rachel moved them, and after waiting for Rachel to be sufficiently distracted - as she was when she pulled James and William away from the lovely lady over there who was playing her Sudoku - and then they took scissors, used them for their nefarious means, with the commotion of Charlie’s death acting as a cover. Now they needed to get rid of the evidence, but with everything happening Rachel had her bag with her. And that left the spot where Jem hid the scissors. Not ideal - their reappearance in that place would arouse suspicion, but it would be infinitely better than keeping them on their own person.”

“So who did it?” Emma demanded, crossing her arms. “Tell us!”

“The killer…” Liz paused for dramatic effect, glaring about the room before she settled her gaze and pointed with one finger. “Is _you_.”

“So _she_ did it?” asked Josh, sounding half irritated and half excited. “ _Definitely?_ ”

Liz’s answer was as simple as it was damning. “Yes.”

And that was the moment that all hell broke loose.

 

* * *

 

The SWAT team helped a lot.

Honestly, they should put that in self-help pamphlets. Ressler could see it now, printed it bright colours and in a sickeningly positive tone - _Stuck facing your worst nightmare for the sake of a friend? Try bringing a SWAT team - for a confidence boost in the darkest of places!_

While being an FBI Agent meant that Ressler had been in some pretty tricky situations before, he had never quite seen anything like the DMV. Even just the thought of it had him wishing he could just turn around but…

It was for Liz’s sake.

Taking a deep breath, Ressler gave the signal to move forward.

It was almost empowering, storming into the DMV with a gun, a bulletproof vest and a small army of SWAT operatives at his back. He had come alone - Samar had not believed his anxieties about the DMV and Cooper had merely told him to sort it out himself. He nearly came alone, but after last time he was not leaving the Post Office without back up.

Aram had suggested the SWAT team.

They swarmed into the DMV on all sides, pouring into the waiting room like a horde of bees intent on the last living flower. They could hear shouting from the doors and stormed in with their guns raised, ready to meet the resistance of a trained killer or perhaps and angry mob.

But the scene before them was absolutely nothing like what Ressler had been expecting.

An old lady was standing not far from the door, held back by a middle aged woman and a teenage boy as she snapped out like a ravenous dog, trying to reach the ex-FBI agent standing in front of her.

Liz had her arms crossed and held a posture that had probably been very imposing had she not been staring at the SWAT team in shock.

All the others in a room were in a similar state, staring about at the guns surrounding them with wide eyes.

When Liz’s eyes fell on Ressler, she frowned and walked over to him, neatly sidestepping the now silent old lady as she went.

“Ressler?” Liz had the gall to sound surprised. “What on Earth are you doing here?”

 “You said there was a murder, and then you didn’t answer your phone! Of course I came!”

“Yes, a murder _most foul._ I thought even you would have understood I was— oh my God, hold on, I think Emma is about to murder Mrs Graeae.”

Ressler followed Liz with his gaze as she raced over to where she had been before and attempted to break up what appeared to be a fight between a four-year-old girl and the aforementioned, apparently mad old lady who appeared to have broken free of her captors.

Meanwhile, two brothers - maybe six and nine years old - watched on with gleeful smiles.

“You were all so focused on the body that you never noticed the head had been thrown at my feet!” the old lady was shouting. “It was easy to carve out those lovely shards of amber! And once you went searching for the head and found it, it was a simple matter to slice apart the body!”

“Are you saying you moved the body before I got here?” Liz asked the group incredulously. “The head and the body were quite close together when I arrived!”

She was ignored.

“How could you?” the little girl asked, devastated.

“I needed those eyes,” the old lady hissed. “He was gone anyway - it was like an organ donation!”

“He would have been fine with a few stitches, you heard Agent Liz!”

“Look—“

“I don’t care!” the girl screeched. “You killed Charlie!”

“Calm down, Emma,” the girl’s mother snapped, trying to hold the child still.

But the girl was still screaming. “You killed Charlie, just so you could _steal his eyes and sew them on your scarf!!!_ ”

“That’s some horror movie shit right there,” Ressler heard someone mutter.

And he couldn’t agree more. He cast his eyes across the room in morbid curiosity, not exactly wanting to see something so terrible but finding himself unable to _not_ all the same.

When his eyes landed on Liz’s impromptu crime scene, he had to blink to ensure he really was seeing what he was seeing.

There was a tiny body on the ground, its innards strewn across the floor. Considering the fact that he’d just stormed a DMV waiting room with a SWAT team for the sake of this murder, Ressler honestly thought the image would be burned into his mind for the rest of his life.

Oh yes. He had no doubt that puffs of white fluff would be forevermore skittering across the edges of his dreams, just as they were now being slowly blown about the linoleum by the barely-working air conditioning. Images of grey fur and torn threads surrounding the empty eye sockets of the destroyed teddy bear would forever haunt him, reminding him of the disappointed blankness of Cooper’s gaze during the silent lecture he would no doubt be treated with upon his return to the Post Office, and the inevitable harassment he would have to endure for the rest of his career.

Ressler had just stormed a government facility teeming with civilians because a little girl’s toy had been ripped apart and because Liz, being the sort of person she was, went to drastic measures to try and cheer the child up.

Unfortunately, Liz clearly did not have the kid skills she thought she did.

At least Ressler had the consolation that this quite possibly might be a bigger embarrassment than his debacle in the DMV, and with the fact that he had been involved in both, he couldn’t help but hope that he would never be required to return to the accursed place again.


	2. Postscript: Glen's SWAT Fiasco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glen has to have noticed something by now.

There was something happening on the other side of the wall. 

It was Glen’s lunch break, and there had been non-stop noise from the waiting room, interrupting his delightful sandwich. But it was just the usual odd noises one would expect from the waiting room of a DMV, so he hadn’t really paid much notice. That is, until the air suddenly erupted with the unmistakable sounds of an FBI raid.

The moment the crashes and shouts of ‘ _FREEZE, FBI!’_ rang through the air, Glen’s sandwich went flying as he scurried to shove papers into innocuous folders and unsuspicious desk drawers. He fired off a series of clicks on his desktop to close windows and start his emergency browser-history-clearance program should they come to check his computer for anything worrisome.

As he worked, he gave some thought as to why they may be here. Glen was careful - he’d never even had a red flag raised on him before, despite all the FBI agents that seemed to be continually streaming through his door and disrupting the tranquillity of his waiting room—

Wait.

That was probably it - Red must have gone too far, he must have done something to anger the FBI and they must have finally snapped, sending people to investigate what sort of information Red had been getting. After all, not all of it had been in the FBI’s favour - Glen couldn’t help but wonder what earth the man was telling them to get them to keep coming.

He wondered what it would be like to have minions to do his bidding - minions who had badges. Oh, the power.

But if that was it – if Red had gone too far – then it was bad news for Glen.

But almost as quickly as the cacophony had erupted, the space behind the wall suddenly went eerily quiet.

Too quiet.

Feeling awfully like he was in the middle of the start of a horror movie and wondering if he was about to happen across a battlefield splattered with pools of blood and strewn with shattered bodies, Glen tiptoed to his door and pried it open, wincing as it creaked. He peaked through the crack, his glasses cutting sharply into the bridge of his nose as he pressed close, trying to see as much as he could without alerting those on the other side to his presence.

What he saw caused him to jump back immediately, but only for a moment.

Because as soon as he’d had time to actually _process_ what he’d seen, he knew he just had to take another look.

The room _was_ full of FBI agents, but there weren’t any dead bodies. No blood. There wasn’t any kind of carnage at all - not unless you counted the tattered remains of a fluffy toy. The agent Glen recognised from a previous waiting room fiasco was holding the thing aloft, it’s small, ruined leg pinched between two fingers.

The scene was only made all the more strange as the man turned to a female agent, and inscrutable expression on his face.

“You had us come here,” the man said, his voice low and dangerous, “For a _toy?_ ”

The woman started rattling on about some kid and a bleeding heart, but Glen had heard enough. Huffing in annoyance that he’d deleted his browser history for _nothing_ , he picked up his now _dusty_ sandwich and threw himself back into his chair.

Honestly.

This was getting ridiculous.

Glen considered once more stopping Reddington from using his infernal placeholder idea, but one thought of the ‘protest’ the man had conducted through the facility, complete with a marching chant, was enough to change his mind.

He could deal with Red’s army of agents, just so long as they kept quiet and _stopped interrupting his lunch_.

Perhaps he should invest in some soundproofing.

Regardless, it wasn’t like it could get any worse than being swarmed by a SWAT team investigating the ‘murder’ of a stuffed animal. After that, Glen was pretty sure he could handle anything Red could throw at him.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos to my dog for ~~letting me borrow~~ supplying her favourite toy as a model.
> 
> Parts of this story were unashamedly inspired by Doctor Who Series 4 Episode 7: _The Unicorn and the Wasp._
> 
> Also partially inspired by Liz’s "kid-cheering skills" in Blacklist Season 3 Episode 14: _Lady Ambrosia._


End file.
